


out of the dark they carry my heart

by unwindmyself



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Asexual Character, Banter, Domestic Fluff, F/F, Femslash, First Time, Firsts, Fivesome - F/F/F/F/F, Found Family, Gentle Sex, Hair Dyeing, Hurt/Comfort, Massage, Multiamory March, Non-Sexual Bondage, Past Sexual Abuse, Phobias, Polyamory, Pregnancy, Recovery, Rope Bondage, Self-Harm, Sensation Play, Thunder and Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6158671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwindmyself/pseuds/unwindmyself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Last semester, five girls, survivors of abuse, came together to take down the elite circle of poisonously macho gearheads that practically ran the university.</p><p>This semester, those same five girls have a kitschy green house off-campus and a whole lot of love for each other, and maybe it's gonna be okay after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. and we will only need each other, we'll bleed together

**Author's Note:**

> Here is my blanket warning for canon-typical trigger subjects. A lot of horrible things (not quite as many as canon, but that's not saying much) have happened to these poor girls in the past, but this is a story about healing and recovery. And lady cuddles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad/Capable.

Capable usually helps Angharad with pregnancy things if she’s available. They were each others before the others’, after all, it comes with the territory. She’s gone with Angharad to the doctor (never the campus clinic, never anywhere they’d run the risk of encountering anyone who sided with Joe’s godforsaken social circle; more often than not Furiosa drove, since neither of them have their licenses) and she’s held her hair through rounds of morning sickness. All of it.

Angharad has said more than once she doesn’t need Capable’s help (the implication being “if it’s too much trouble”) and more than once Capable has insisted anyway. “You won’t scare me off,” she says.

They’re in bed early tonight (Capable has an early lecture on Friday mornings and she’s always happier with proper sleep) but the others are up, laughing over some old film, so they’re not yet asleep. No, for now Capable is rubbing oil on Angharad’s slowly growing belly.

Angharad has gone from hating this pregnancy to celebrating it and settled on ambivalence about it.

Tonight she says, “I think I’m giving the baby up for adoption.” She doesn’t call the baby “it,” but she doesn’t give it personal pronouns either.

Capable frowns thoughtfully. “When did you decide that?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Angharad sighs. “Since I decided not to…”

“Yeah,” Capable murmurs.

“I’m just not ready to be a mum,” Angharad continues. “It’s too much to take on yet.”

“You know I’d help out,” Capable says quickly. “I mean, if you wanted, we’d all help, but…” She shrugs.

Angharad shifts to kiss Capable’s lips. “I know,” she says. “Someday, maybe, we could all… but I don’t think right now’s the time.”

“Yeah,” Capable repeats. She likes when Angharad talks, but she doesn’t always know what to say in return. She always responds somehow, though.

“I mean, Cheedo’s still half a kid,” Angharad continues. “I wouldn’t put that on her. She should still be worrying about choosing a major, not helping her girlfriend raise a child.”

“Cheedo’s not so little anymore,” Capable points out, smirking. “And all of us are pretty young to be raising a kid.”

“Right,” Angharad says, beaming in a way that’s always made Capable feel fluttery. “Right, none of us would be suited, not really. I want the baby to have a chance, and not at the expense of any of us doing.”

“You’re amazing,” Capable says.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing,” Angharad demurs.

“You are,” Capable promises, wrapping around her girlfriend from behind.

“Thank you,” Angharad sighs. “I dunno. It’s not like it’s the kid’s fault that their father was a roofie-wielding toxic piece of trash.”

Capable shivers and nestles into Angharad’s shoulder. “That scum is nothing, to the baby or you,” she says.

“I know that,” Angharad says, but shakily, like she’s still glad of the reminder. “It’ll turn out right somehow.”

“No matter what, I’m here for you,” Capable whispers.

“I know,” Angharad repeats. “That’s the only good to come of this. We’ve all got each other now.”


	2. all those years, all those lies cling to my body like oil and fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo/Toast.

Dag is fire and Toast is ice. This is the way of it in Cheedo’s eyes.

Most of the time, she likes to be warm, but sometimes it feels like burning. Not bad burning, just - sometimes it’s a lot.

She goes to Toast for calm.

Toast doesn’t really like sex as such; she likes curling up with her girls and kissing, petting everywhere, but when Capable reaches to tug her panties off she squirms evasively. She’s never liked that, she said once, and for the others this is something to acknowledge and work around, but Cheedo doesn’t mind one bit. She still hasn’t even…

Toast doesn’t mind that, either.

When Cheedo says “Thank you” when Toast wraps around her from behind and just holds her, Toast doesn’t ask “For what?” like Angharad usually does (not looking for compliments, but she always forgets when kindness might be a surprise).

Toast just says, “Of course, ladybird.” Cheedo doesn’t like being called “baby” or “sweetie,” and Toast gets it.

When Cheedo sighs and turns and burrows between Toast’s small breasts and whispers, “You’re very nice,” Toast doesn’t turn shy like Dag sometimes does (so unused to thinking of herself that way, not fully able to accept it).

Toast just pets her hair slow and steady and says, “Thank you, ladybird.”

When Cheedo clings to Toast in sleep, shifting restlessly in the throes of one of her vague bad dreams, Toast doesn’t nudge her awake like Capable often does, whispering, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” which is not to say that Cheedo minds that but sometimes waking is even more upsetting.

Toast just holds her tighter and hums soft sweet things. Sometimes Cheedo wakes and sometimes she doesn’t but it always feels safe.

Cheedo is the first one of them to whom Toast says “I love you.” Toast is comfortable with Cheedo in a special way.

Today has been Cheedo’s worst day in a while. Nasty graffiti on one of the of the desks in her maths lecture, accusing their bunch of being sinners, whores, as good as murderers (as if Joe hadn’t just got himself dead in one of his infamous testosterone-fueled car races outside of town after his expulsion) and destroyers of -

Cheedo gets up and runs out of the room, back home, before she cries in front of everybody.

“Ladybird?” Toast calls when she comes in the house. She knows it’s Cheedo who’s home because she leaves all of the lights on like breadcrumbs behind her. It’s sweetly predictable.

“In here,” Cheedo calls woefully from the bedroom.

Toast clicks her tongue and follows the sound of Cheedo’s voice. Dag would ask who needed to be hit, Capable would ask if she needed to be distracted, but Toast just says, “Snuggle?”

Cheedo lifts herself off the bed and nods. “I hate people,” she whimpers.

“They’re pretty awful,” Toast agrees (well, she’s sort of the group pessimist anyway). She climbs on the bed and pulls Cheedo’s head into her lap. “Talk it out?”

“Just gossip,” Cheedo says. “The usual hateful awful things. Is it ever going to stop being so horrible?”

Toast threads fingers through Cheedo’s hair. “I hope so,” she says.


	3. so grow tall, sugarcane, eat that soil, drink the rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad/Dag.

Dag fidgets. It’s just something known about her. She twirls pens, or she uses them to draw on her skin, or she braids her hair, or she plays an imaginary piano, or or or -

Sometimes she fidgets on her girls, uses them as canvas in one way or another. Lately she’s taken up massage, inspired by a class she’s taking for her naturopathic healing major, and the sorer Angharad gets, no thanks to the pregnancy, the more she appreciates it.

Toast took Cheedo to one of the chemistry department mixers and Capable is fetching the takeaway pizza after her late lecture, so Angharad and Dag have the house to themselves for a bit. This means Angharad is laid out flat on her back in the middle of the living room floor while Dag floats around lighting candles.

“Y’know my eyes’re shut,” Angharad calls out.

“They still smell nice,” Dag retorts. “An’ it’s part of the ambiance.” She scoffs, because that sort of thing evades the others sometimes.

“All right, all right,” Angharad chuckles. “I’ll be nice.”

“Good,” Dag says, grabbing her oils and flopping down beside Angharad unceremoniously. “Anywhere in particular need tended to?”

Angharad hums noncommittally. “Everywhere, really, y’know how it is.” Both because she’s not shy about letting her girls know where she needs love (they ask often enough) and because (though it didn’t get near this far along) Dag’s the only other one of them who’s been preggers.

“Yeah,” Dag nods. She starts rubbing oil onto Angharad’s legs gently, but not too gently. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry.”

“I know,” Angharad says, sighing happily and seeming to sink into the floor. “You really are sweeter than you want to let on, Dag.”

Dag chuckles. “That’s ‘cause I’m not sweet to most people. You four are kinda special.”

“An honor we don’t take lightly,” Angharad promises. She’s quiet as Dag rubs her calves, only sighing when particularly tight spots are hit, and she whines when Dag moves up to her thighs.

“Good, or too much?” Dag asks.

“Perfect,” Angharad murmurs. “Always.”


	4. melody, you're the only one who saves me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable/Cheedo.

Capable is down in the basement of the music building, playing sonatinas on her favorite beat-up baby grand, when she first hears the thunder outside. She shrugs and keeps playing. When she’s finished the second sonatina, she twists to crack her back, and she sees Cheedo in the doorway, holding books to her chest and looking like she’s about to cry.

“Oh, darling,” Capable exclaims, jumping up to guide Cheedo to the dingy overstuffed chair that’s the only extra seat in the practice room. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s so dumb,” Cheedo mumbles. “I’m so dumb.”

“No you’re not,” Capable soothes, wrapping arms around Cheedo and holding her close. “Tell me what’s the matter.”

“It’s dumb,” Cheedo repeats. “I was upstairs having a voice lesson and - I hate thunder and lighting. I always have, it’s so horrible.”

“It’s okay,” Capable says. “It’s not fun, and it’s got a chance of danger, and it’s loud. I understand.” She has no such problem with it, but she knows why someone would.

Cheedo nods. “It’s really babyish of me to say so, but.”

“It’s not,” Capable insists. “C’mon, let’s hole up till the storm clears, all right? No use tryin’ to get home in this.”

“Yeah?” Cheedo says hopefully.

“Yeah,” Capable nods. “Promise. Wanna sing the storm away?”

Cheedo giggles. “What do you mean?”

Capable untangles and goes back to the piano. “Angry songs, something to distract us,” she says. “Whatever. Make noise till there’s no more storm to fear.”

“Make noise,” Cheedo echoes. “I like that.” She sits up straighter.

They cycle through whatever Capable can play off the top of her head that Cheedo can join in the words to, that she can riff on, and by the time they’ve fallen into each other giggling it’s all calm outside.

“Hey, look at that,” Capable says, laughing. “We fought it back.”

“We’re pretty powerful, aren’t we?” Cheedo asks with a smile.

“You know it.”


	5. up where the answers fall like leaves, oh and your love is all I need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dag/Toast.

Dag has one of her distracted faces on today, eyes distant, concentrated frown in place, so Toast asks at lunch, “You need anything?”

“Maybe,” Dag says.

This means yes, and it means they both know exactly _what_ is needed. They don’t talk about this with the others, though, so coded talk is wise. (Everyone knows they have a private routine, but they don’t know details.)

Maybe this is unfeminist (this is why Dag doesn’t ask Angharad).

Maybe it’s violent (this is why Dag doesn’t ask Cheedo).

Maybe it’s just off somehow (this is why Dag doesn’t ask Capable).

But the fact of it is, Dag likes rope and she likes what rope can do, and Toast understands. Toast likes helping Dag this way because she knows it makes Dag feel good, but Toast doesn’t get off on treading the fine line that separates feeling good from feeling pained and at one’s mercy.

That evening Angharad and Capable are watching Cheedo practice a monologue for the drama class she’s taking this term to step out of her shell, so Dag and Toast can be all alone in the spare bedroom.

Dag doesn’t waste time undressing, braiding her hair out of the way, but before she sits down she asks, “Anything I can do in return?” It wouldn’t be right if it was only one way.

Toast smirks. “Later, maybe,” she says. “My neck’s been stiff all week. But you’re better at fixing things like that when you’re calmer.”

“Guess so,” Dag shrugs. She knows it’s true.

“C’mere,” Toast says, patting the bed. “I wanna try something.”

“You been doin’ research?” Dag teases.

“You say that like it’s unheard of,” Toast retorts. She likes figuring things out. “Flat on the bed, please. Arms spread.”

“That doesn’t sound too adventurous,” Dag murmurs, but she obeys. Her legs stay together. They always stay together. This isn’t about sex, both because Toast doesn’t want it to be and because it just _isn’t_.

Toast enforces this with rope around Dag’s ankles and knees, but it’s more because Dag likes the feeling than because it’s needed. Then she moves to Dag’s wrists, tying one to either bedpost, before she sits herself on Dag’s hips. (She herself is wearing her around-the-house shorts and t-shirt, so Dag’s got the feeling of terrycloth against her skin as well.) And then, without more than a nonverbal hum that probably means something like “say so if you don’t like this,” she starts dragging her fingernails over Dag’s bare back.

“ _Shit_ ,” Dag groans.

“Good?”

“Keep going,” Dag hisses.

So Toast does. She draws patterns on Dag’s skin, and she can’t help but notice that the harder she presses, the more Dag melts against the mattress. It’s not about pain, just about sensation, about things that feel abrasive for most people but feel almost soothing for Dag, sometimes, under the right circumstances, when she’s in the right mood. About having something that focuses her. And it’s about the fact that, just like Toast expected, her nails are the right kind of focus just like the ropes are.

Some of the lines have been traced over enough times that Toast can see faint red lines on Dag’s back, but Dag just smiles and says, “More.”


	6. I'm a little bit tired of fearing that I'll be the bad fruit nobody buys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad/Cheedo.

They’ve all got scars, of course.

There’s the horrible cigar burns on the backs of all of their necks - Joe’s trademark, his little way of saying he’d had them. (God knows how many other girls on campus have similar little scars, girls who didn’t come forward.)

Capable has more burns on the insides of her thighs, and nobody but Angharad knows why (they can guess, though).

Toast has a line above her eyebrow from where her head got slammed into a table.

Dag has a scar on her stomach from the surgery after her miscarriage.

But even though most of Cheedo’s scars are the hardest to find and Angharad’s are the very most obvious, they have something in common: they weren’t anyone else’s doing.

Little things can set Cheedo off, and Angharad knows this. (Angharad has the memories of coming across Cheedo in the loo, bleeding from the mouth, to prove it.) So when some shaven-headed twerp of a boy calls nasty things after them as they walk home one afternoon, Angharad tightens her grip on Cheedo’s hand and whispers, “He’s a liar.”

Cheedo flinches, but she doesn’t say anything. Angharad knows what that means.

So she stops them at the nearest bench, sits them down. “He’s a liar,” she repeats, gently stroking Cheedo’s cheeks until her jaw relaxes. “He thinks saying awful things makes him important, but he’s wrong. He’s just some kid.”

“So’m I,” Cheedo mumbles, and Angharad can see blood on her tongue. “Or I was, ‘fore I got broken.”

Angharad frowns. “You aren’t broken,” she says. “You’re still here. You’re still strong.”

Cheedo lays a hand on Angharad’s belly. “You’ve all had it so much worse than me, though,” she whispers. “I mean - hell - Dag coulda died from - and you’re…”

“Hey,” Angharad says gently. “Just ‘cause that lowlife didn’t do exactly to you what he did to the rest of us doesn’t mean he didn’t still molest you. It doesn’t mean you don’t still have trauma.”

“I still think about it sometimes,” Cheedo says, eyes far away. “About him shovin’ me on my knees, pulling that belt out and flashing that dis _gusting_ buckle like a threat…”

“I know,” Angharad murmurs. She knows, too, that that’s why Cheedo started in doing what she does, chewing her own cheeks and lips bloody, but she also knows saying it just makes Cheedo want to do it more. Instead she keeps on touching Cheedo’s face, feather-light. “I don’t know if it’ll ever go away, but it’s not something you have to bear alone.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Cheedo asks. “If you…” She nods to the white lines on the inside of Angharad’s arms.

“It is,” Angharad says. “It’s what Furiosa told me, when she noticed I was coming to class with my wrists all bandaged up. It’s what Capable tells me when we’re in bed. It’s what we all oughta tell each other even more’n we already do, because it’s gonna be what gets us through.”

Cheedo sighs and rests her head in Angharad’s lap, passersby be damned. “It’s easier to think I’m gonna be okay when you say it.”


	7. we get one sweet moment in the arms of youth, I don't wanna waste time holding down the truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable/Dag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw slurs.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://blog.chloefleury.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/abeylee_purple.jpg) of course.

“I’m thinking purple,” Dag says, hopping up on the counter and swinging her legs.

“Purple,” Capable repeats. “Bit bold for your flower punk nature princess vibe, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Dag says, shrugging and offering the dye. It’s a light shade, grayish-pinkish-violet. “Figured it’s different but not too.”

“It suits you,” Capable says, and she means it.

“What about you?” Dag asks. “Still goin’ for your sunkissed little mermaid usual?”

“I’m predictable,” Capable says cheerfully. She sheds her robe and nods to the faucet. “You first, or me?”

Dag shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

“Suit yourself,” Capable chirps, stepping into the tub and sitting down. “My box is behind you.”

“Thanks, “Dag says. She pulls a stool over to the tub, perches on it while she starts to mix the dye.

“Good day?” Capable asks. “I mean, you didn’t come home cursing anyone’s name, so that’s good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dag agrees. “Coulda been better, coulda been worse. Microaggressions, isn’t that the word?”

Capable nods, frowning. “I’m sorry,” she says, because microaggressions would make her sad, sadder still if they were aimed at her or one of her own.

Sad isn’t entirely Dag’s style, though. She’s more of the ‘quiet seething’ type. That, and jagged-edged insults. So, as she starts clipping sections of Capable’s hair up, she explains, “Not like it’s the first time I’ve been called a creepy dyke or a witch.” She sounds almost proud of this. “I sorta wanna throttle them, but mostly ‘cause they oughta learn better than to go around shoutin’ shit like that at people.”

Capable wraps arms around her knees. “I think there’s something about this place,” she says. “Like there’s an extra helping of closed-minded assholes here.”

Dag rolls her eyes, applying dye to sections of Capable’s hair methodically. “I think there’s just somethin’ about boys,” she counters. “They get told they’re allowed to give into their urges to act like spoiled little schlangers, so they do.”

“Not all of them are so bad,” Capable points out.

“For a political science student, you can be a little optimistic,” Dag sighs.

Capable shakes her head best as she can with Dag’s hands in her hair. “You know well as I that even dumb guys can get better if they try,” she says pointedly. “Doesn’t mean the ones that aren’t gonna get better no matter what aren’t a problem, though. I shouldn’t’ve gone all ‘not all men’ at you.” She giggles, and it’s a cute enough sound that Dag giggles too.

“I know,” Dag says. “I didn’t mean optimistic like it’s a bad thing, either. One of us has to be.”

Well, Cheedo and Dag are both jaded in their own ways, and Toast can have a downright dark mind when she gets in the mood, and Angharad tries to reflect their mentor Furiosa’s pragmatism even if it takes a different form sometimes.

“It’s not exactly that,” Capable murmurs. “I just don’t like painting things with broad strokes.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dag replies, leaning to kiss Capable’s cheek. “It’s good of you. It’s somethin’ we should all aspire to.” She makes a face. “But especially stupid rugby boys whose best insult is that you don’t like penises, which is somethin’ I knew already.”

Capable smirks. “Y’know, I admire that about you?” she asks. “Always have. That you’ve never not known who you are, no matter…”

“Thanks, dear heart,” Dag says. “Mostly it’s a good thing, even if it hasn’t made life exactly easy.”

“And that means you’re brave,” Capable adds, eyes wide and voice sweet.

“So are you,” Dag counters.

Capable’s smile grows. “Stop being so sentimental and finish up with mine so I can do yours, silly.”


	8. 'cause I know that there will always be a light for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angharad/Toast.

Angharad still flinches when she hears revving engines. Funny, she’ll say, how the memory of one’s rapist-masquerading-as-a-boyfriend holding one out an open car door while some punk kid at the wheel guns it can turn a girl off. (They all associate car things with Joe and his, but it’s worst for Angharad.)

Toast knows this, so she doesn’t make any extra noise as she pulls the new car into the driveway. She just parks, lets herself out and into the house, and says, “Don’t be mad” when she sees Angharad lying on the couch. Even she second-guesses herself sometimes.

“Why’d I be mad?” Angharad asks, not opening her eyes.

“C’mere,” Toast says, “I’ll show you.”

Angharad clambers up and laces her fingers with Toast’s. “What’s goin’ on?”

Toast brings her outdoors. “Furiosa helped me pick it out,” she says, nodding to the station wagon. “Wasn’t too spendy, but it’s safe.”

Angharad frowns, like she’s trying to figure something out. “Why’d I be mad?” she repeats.

Here Toast falters. “I know you’re not keen on cars,” she says. “Honestly, I’m not either, I don’t think any of us are. But it’s gettin’ hard without our having one. I mean, Furiosa’s kind to help, but she’s a full-time professor, she doesn’t have time to fetch and carry every time we need to get across town.”

“Yeah,” Angharad murmurs thoughtfully. She squeezes Toast’s hand. “Y’know, you’re gonna be the only one driving it?”

“For now,” Toast says. “Capable wants me to teach her. I could teach all of you in time.”

“It would be nice to have a little mobility,” Angharad muses. “Take trips to the coast on weekends. Not have to only buy as many groceries as we can carry home in our arms.”

Toast smiles shyly. “You’re okay with this, then?”

“‘Course I’m okay with this,” Angharad agrees. “Good thinking.”

Toast worries her lip a moment. “You wanna get in?” she asks. “We could go pick up dinner.”

“Could we turn the radio on really loud?” Angharad asks, smiling mischievously. “Goof off a little?”

“We can goof off as much as you want, long’s I can still drive safe,” Toast declares.


	9. you were blessed by a different kind of inner view: it's all magnified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capable/Toast.

Capable is cross-legged on the bedroom floor, surrounded, by planks and screws and tools, when Toast comes in. “Building something?” she asks, even though it’s obvious.

“Yes,” Capable says brightly.

“What?” Toast asks.

“A shelf,” Capable says.

“We need another shelf?” Toast asks, sitting down on the bed.

Capable shrugs. “This one’s for shoes,” she says. “To go in the closet, so we’re not always tripping over Dag’s combat boots in the middle of the night if we have to pee.”

“She does have a way of kicking them all over the floor,” Toast smirks.

“I mean, we all do that, sometimes,” Capable says judiciously. “But if there’s places for everything, then we’ll put them there.”

“It’s cute that you think that,” Toast says.

“Well, we can insist,” Capable chirps.

“Cute,” Toast repeats, reaching to rub Capable’s shoulder. “For a poli sci kid you’re pretty handy, y’know?”

Capable just keeps on beaming. “For a cynical chem major, you’re pretty sweet.”

“Touché,” Toast says, holding up her hands. “Do you need any help?”

“Steady this?” Capable suggests, offering one of the longest boards.

Toast nods and holds the board in place while Capable begins to place dowels in the appropriate spots. “It always strikes me as funny,” she murmurs, “that so many people think we’re this lascivious constant orgy when this is the kinda stuff we’re at most of the time.”

Capable giggles. “It’s ‘cause they’re afraid of us,” she says.

“‘Cause of what we did to Joe,” Toast supplies. “Or at least what we set in motion.”

After all, a lot of what happened to him wasn’t their doing directly, but if they’d never set out to take him down, some or all of it wouldn’t have happened. And he’d been campus royalty: five scrappy girls and their women’s studies prof shouldn’t have been able to dismantle him so easy. There are still those around who think that.

“Partways,” Capable says. “Then there’s the fact that almost no one understands actual, equal polyamory and can’t see that it’d be for more than sex. Then there’s the fact that a lot of people still don’t really understand girls bein’ with girls, too, that their only real idea of it is television tragedy or male-gazey pornographic fetishization.   They can’t see anything else bein’ possible.”

“I like it when you talk social justice,” Toast declares with a smile.


	10. but the search ends here, where the night is totally clear and your heart is fierce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cheedo/Dag.

It’s Cheedo’s 20th birthday.

It’s Cheedo’s 20th birthday and the other girls have gone all-out. Toast made cupcakes, which Dag proceeded to frost with little icing flowers; Angharad and Capable made dinner. There are presents - dainty silver gladiator sandals, an olive-green cargo vest that she’s been eyeing, five bags of hard candies for her to go through when she feels like she might hurt herself - and sweet words all around.

When dinner is finished, though, Cheedo tugs on Dag’s hand.

“What is it, love?” Dag asks in a whisper.

“I, uh,” Cheedo stammers. “Private?”

Dag nods, silently signaling to the others that they’re bowing out, and when they’re in the bedroom, Cheedo flings her arms around Dag’s shoulders, kissing her with her eyes closed.

“Hey,” Dag says with a little smile.

“Hey,” Cheedo repeats. “Could we try… something?”

“‘Course” Dag says. “What is it?”

Cheedo glances down at Dag’s hands. “Would you… rub me?” she asks softly. “Out, rub me out. Like you and Angharad and Capable like?”

Dag bites her lip. “Yeah?” she asks. “You wanna…”

“I wanna,” Cheedo says. She tugs Dag over to the bed and slips Dag’s hand up under her skirt. “I wanna be yours.”

“You’re mine,” Dag swears, her hand still, her expression hesitant. “You’re all of ours and your own too. No matter…”

“I know,” Cheedo insists. “Please? I want you first.” It hangs there a minute, weighty and sincere.

And then Dag says, “All right.” She nudges Cheedo toward the headboard. She asks, “Can I take these off?” and nods to Cheedo’s panties.

Cheedo nods and wiggles her hips. “Love you,” she whispers.

“Love you too,” Dag hums. She pulls the panties away, gently rubs her fingers over Cheedo’s center. She watches Cheedo’s face.

“Can you come close?” Cheedo asks. “I wanna kiss you.”

“’Course,” Dag says, and she leans in to kiss her girlfriend, her first love, so tender, fingering her as carefully as she can, listening to every hitch of breath and taking note of every slight movement Cheedo makes.

Cheedo is crying by the time she comes, and Dag immediately scoots up to hold her close, sucking her fingers off before petting Cheedo’s hair. “You okay?”

Cheedo grabs Dag’s arm and kisses the inside of her wrist. “I’m perfect. That was perfect. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”


End file.
